


The Unintended Consequences Of A Clever Ruse

by afteriwake



Series: Anything Can Happen [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-19
Updated: 2013-09-19
Packaged: 2017-12-27 01:59:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/972960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In order to catch a killer, Sherlock and Molly must live together and pretend to be a couple. Sherlock is against the idea from the start, but as time progresses and the case drags on he finds himself looking at Molly in a whole new light. Perhaps this clever ruse would have unexpected but welcome consequences after all...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> An answer for the **sherlockmas** challenge at Livejournal. Once again I picked one of my own prompts ("Any; 'We can sleep in the same bed and nothing has to happen, she said. Bullocks.'"). I wrote this in four hours so I apologize if it seems off in any way.

He had vehemently disagreed with the idea from the moment it was suggested. Yes, he had changed much since he had met John, and even more since his great fall, but he had to draw the line somewhere. And involving Molly in this case? That was where he was going to draw the line. She was already involved, but further involvement would only put her at risk, and she was his friend. The fact he even _considered_ her a friend spoke volumes. And he didn’t want her to get hurt. But he was doomed to lose the argument before it even was an argument. Lestrade insisted, John supported the idea and Molly was eager to help beyond just conducting the autopsies. There was no helping it: she was going to be helping him whether he liked it or not.

The killer was striking couples in London, those who were at the top of their fields. Obviously he was superb at what he did, and Molly _was_ one of the best pathologists in the city. Theoretically they should be perfect bait. It would not be hard to convince others that they had a romantic relationship; now that John was married off and no longer living at the home they had shared Sherlock had spent more time with Molly. While most of the time it was just talking over coffee, discussing cases and theories, it could be construed as dates. And they had been doing it long enough that the idea of them living together would not seem too far-fetched. Everyone thought it was a brilliant idea. Only Sherlock had his doubts.

The killer had not struck often enough for his pattern to be noticeable at first; it had taken months for the pattern to emerge, and it had been Sally Donovan who noticed the connection. Sherlock had to admit it had escaped him entirely, and Sally had been dumbstruck when he congratulated her on catching the pattern. They were both trying to readjust to his return and the changes in his demeanor. Her and everyone else in Scotland Yard, to be more blunt. It meant more cases for him, and anything to get his mind off the hell he’d been through in two years was good for him.

And so it was a week later he was hauling boxes into his home. Molly was not bringing much, for which he was eternally grateful, especially since they were to share a room. It was the only way for the ruse to work. As he brought the last box in he saw Molly moving around the kitchen, putting food away and humming to herself. It was strange seeing her there, making herself comfortable. But he would have to get used to it, he supposed. No one knew how long it would take the killer to snatch up this particular bait.

“I have the last box,” Sherlock said after watching her for a moment more.

“Thank you, Sherlock,” she said, turning to him and flashing a smile. “I saw you cleared off some shelves for me in the sitting room. I appreciate it.”

“If you're to be here for any length of time it is not fair to ask you to not have anything here,” he said. She had not taped up the top of the boxes so he opened one. Inside were books and framed pictures. He pulled out a picture and stared at it for a moment. It was Molly with an older woman, and both of them were smiling.

“That’s my mother,” she said quietly from his side. He had been staring so intently at the photograph that he had not heard her leave the kitchen. “She died not long after my father. I think she died of a broken heart, but the actual cause of death was heart attack.”

“I'm sorry for your loss,” he said, handing the photograph to her.

“What about you? Are your mum and dad still alive?” she asked, putting the photograph back in the box before picking the box up and taking it to the empty shelves.

“My mother is. My father died when I was young.”

“You’re quite lucky,” she said. She began to pull out the photographs and set them on a chair to get to the books underneath. “I would love to have my mother around. I miss her greatly.”

He watched her for a few minutes. He was not good with emotion, still not terribly good at picking up social cues, but even he knew that this was a topic they should avoid for the time being. “I thought we might talk about what's expected,” he said, moving closer to her.

“Like rules?” she asked, turning to look at him for a moment.

“More like guidelines.”

“Oh, this will be like when I was a teenager again,” she said, but there was a ghost of a smile on her face. “What are the guidelines, Sherlock?”

“Leave my experiments alone. Do not bother me when I am thinking about a case. And stay on your side of the bed at night.”

She chuckled slightly. “Is that all? I thought there would be a longer list.”

“I’ll probably have more things later, after we have resided together for a bit,” he said in a slight huff. She was amused. She thought it was amusing. He had not expected that, but knowing Molly he should have.

“I toss and turn at night,” she said. “So staying on my own side of the bed might be a problem.”

“Well, try your best. It's not as though I sleep much anyway,” he said.

“How often do you sleep?” she asked, pausing in what she was doing.

“Three or four hours a night. I only sleep longer if I have not slept the previous night. And I do that frequently.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” She looked at him. “I fully believe we can share a bed and nothing has to happen.”

“Nothing _will_ happen,” he said. “I don’t do relationships.”

“I know you don’t,” she said quietly, going back to what she had been doing before. “I learned that well years ago.”

He watched her. Yes, the crush. She had been infatuated with him, before the fall. He couldn’t fathom why, he’d never been able to figure that out, but it was not present when he returned. Yes, she had been a contact while he was away, one of the few who knew the truth, and they had talked extensively at points. She had even left the hospital for two weeks to patch him up after a particularly bad encounter with an assassin where he had been gravely injured. He had insisted on her care because, to be honest, he didn’t trust many others to not work with the enemy and ensure his death. She had stayed in the hotel room the entire time, making sure he stayed alive. He had been more grateful for it than she knew, and yet this friendship they had now had no remnants of the one-sided crush. Something had changed in the last few years. This was an intriguing mystery that he might look into when time permitted.

She finished her task with this box and moved onto the others. Soon her bookshelf was filled and she went into the bedroom they would share. He did not follow her, instead focusing on one of his other cases. She emerged an hour later and went into the kitchen again, pulling ingredients from the shelves and the refrigerator. He dimly realized she was doing it, and it wasn’t until he could smell the aroma of chicken that he looked up. “Did you make yourself dinner?” he asked.

“Yes, and you too,” she replied. He moved over to the table and saw there were two plates sitting there, filled with food. “John told me you forgot to eat a lot of the time.”

“A bad habit, I suppose,” he said, sitting down in front of one of the plates.

“If there are things you don’t want to eat, let me know and I’ll avoid making them,” she said, getting two glasses of water and bringing them to the table.

“I am not particularly fond of seafood,” he said as she set a glass in front of him. “And I believe salad is merely rabbit food.”

“Well, then I’ll just keep my salads to myself,” she said with a chuckle. “I’m trying to lose some more weight, so I’m eating more healthily.”

“You look perfectly acceptable as you are,” he said before taking a bite of his food. He had to admit, she was a good cook. Time would tell if she was better than John had been.

“Thank you for the compliment,” she said with a smile. She began to eat her own food and they both stayed relatively quiet. To be honest, he was not looking forward to this evening. He had never really shared a bed with anyone, never had any reason to. He enjoyed his space. But for this to work he needed to make adjustments in his life for someone else, and they needed to be the type of adjustments that made others think of a romantic relationship. They had already agreed upon going out together, and the idea of intimacy in public had made his skin crawl initially, but Molly had said she would never do anything he wasn’t comfortable with, and he was thankful for that.

He did the dishes for her, as a courtesy. She had not had to include him in her meal, and at the very least he could show that while he was still resentful at being outvoted on this scheme he didn’t hold it against her. No, only time would tell how it played out, but for now, he would at least make things a bit easier. John had been able to handle his quirks; he didn’t know if Molly would bear them as well, and he wasn’t in the mood to have the whole plan fail because they stopped being able to cohabitate together.

She had excused herself to get some sleep, telling him she had an early day the next day, and he went back to his case. It wasn’t until four hours later that he realized he had hit a dead end and there was nothing more to do on it for the night. Perhaps it was time to go to sleep himself. He went into his room and found her asleep already, and on the side of the bed he preferred. He had neglected to tell her about that, so a bad night’s sleep was going to be his own damn fault tonight. He would tell her in the morning. He stripped out of his clothes as quietly as he could. He was not a modest person, and it wasn’t as though he was getting completely naked. He was merely stripping down to his underwear before putting on more clothing.

“What a nice view,” he heard from the bed as soon as he was about to put his shirt on. He paused and glanced over sharply, watching her yawn before her face settled on an amused grin.

“I suppose that's a compliment?” he asked, looking at her, sleep shirt on his arms but not over his head.

“Yes, Sherlock, it is.” She sat up slightly. “I wasn’t completely asleep and the light woke me up.”

“I apologize.”

“I’ll shut my eyes if you want,” she said.

“It doesn't matter,” he said, putting the shirt on. “Though since you are awake I would prefer if you sleep on the other side.”

She stretched slightly and then nodded, pulling back the covers and getting out of the bed. He glanced at her. This was the least amount of clothing he had ever seen her in, as she was wearing a camisole top and a pair of sleep shorts. She moved around to the other side and pulled the covers back again. Then she paused. “My hair was wet. We should switch pillows.”

“It’s fine,” he replied, moving to pull on his sleep pants. “It’s been a few hours.”

“If you’re sure,” she said, climbing into bed. “I’ll get a sleep mask tomorrow so this doesn’t happen again.” She settled in and turned on her side, her back to him. “Good night, Sherlock.”

“Good night, Molly,” he said as he finished getting ready. He turned off the light and moved over to the bed, climbing in. The pillow wasn’t damp, but the fragrance of her shampoo had lingered. He had to admit it was a pleasant smell, light and floral as opposed to something heavy. He shut his eyes and proceeded to try his best to go to sleep. Even though he wouldn’t sleep for long, if he slept at all, he didn’t want to wake her up again. It was the least he could do.


	2. Chapter 2

She did not stay on her own side of the bed. And, apparently, neither did he.

It had been three weeks since she had moved in. They got along well enough, so it was not hard for them to live in the same home. And she was tolerant of the quirks he let show. But every night, without fail, they would start the night on opposite ends of the bed and by morning end up close to each other in the middle. They were never touching; there was always at least a bit of space between them. And they weren’t always facing each other when one of them woke up. But it happened every morning, and he was wondering why it didn’t bother him as much as it should.

This particular morning he was awake at five in the morning. He knew she had the day off of work so she had planned on sleeping in. Most mornings when he awoke first he got out of bed as quickly and quietly as he could, careful not to wake her. Today, however, he chose to linger. It was not as though he had to hurry and wake up himself; he would not be able to do anything for his most recent case for at least another four hours.

She was facing him now, and he took the opportunity to study her face. She looked very peaceful while she was asleep, he decided. There was a small smile on her face, as though she was having an enjoyable dream. He envied her for that; when he dreamed, which was very rare, they were not pleasant. He was surprised he had not had one of those dreams since she had moved in; perhaps sharing the bed and having someone nearby was a comfort he hadn’t realized before. He would muse on that particular thought later.

She moved slightly, and the comforter slipped down a bit. It had already been down to her waist, and now as she shifted it moved down to her hips. He took the opportunity to study her further. When she had said she was trying to lose weight he had been truthful with her. When she wasn’t in the shapeless clothes and oversized jumpers she wore to work he could see she was actually quite thin. She had nice curves, he supposed, and would look quite nice if she stopped dressing to shield herself. Because that’s what those clothes were: armor to protect herself. He wondered what had hurt her so badly that she felt the need to camouflage herself so much.

He sat up slightly, then thought for a moment. After some hesitation he got out of bed, then moved over to her side of the bed and pulled the comforter back up to her shoulders. It was starting to get chilly in the room, and he did not want her to wake earlier than she wanted to. He would turn on the heater as well, just to be on the safe side.

“Thank you,” she murmured as his hands were about to leave the comforter, and he froze. But she burrowed in more and said nothing else, and after a minute or so he removed his hands from the comforter. He straightened up, then got a change of clothes and made his way to the washroom. Since that first night he had taken to changing there when she was asleep in the bed. He had not been embarrassed, not in the slightest, but there was always the chance he would make too much noise and wake her up. He was trying to be respectful.

As soon as he was dressed he turned the heater up and then went into the kitchen to begin to make coffee. He was going to skip breakfast, just as he did most mornings when she wasn’t awake, because when she was awake she made sure he ate. He knew this was a good thing, because he was horrible at taking care of himself. He knew that John appreciated it, because even though they were no longer flatmates they were still friends, and John worried. Just as the coffee was finishing and he was serving up a cup he heard footsteps from the hallway. He looked up and saw Molly yawning as she came into the kitchen. “I tried my best not to wake you,” he said, getting a mug for her.

“I know. But the coffee smelled too good,” she said with a smile. When she got close enough he handed her the mug. “Did I imagine you pulling the blanket up higher on me earlier?”

“No,” he replied. “If it woke you up I won't do it again.”

“It’s all right, Sherlock,” she said, setting down her mug and setting a hand on his arm. Over the last few weeks she had done little things to keep up appearances, small gestures to stay close to him. He did not mind when she touched him, not very much. Even when it was her hand on bare skin there was nothing unpleasant about it. But it always gave him pause when she did, especially in public. It always took a moment for him to realize they had to pretend to be a couple. The first time she had kissed his cheek had been especially jarring, but other than that moment he was sure no one could tell. “I didn’t mind. I was getting cold anyway.”

“If you’re sure,” he said, looking at her hand.

“I am,” she replied, squeezing his arm gently before pulling her hand away. She moved over to the coffeepot and poured herself a cup before heading to the refrigerator. “What are your plans for the day?”

“I need to have a meeting with Lestrade, but I believe I have figured out who the murderer is on my current case,” he said, picking up his own coffee. He watched as she pulled out the flavored creamer she preferred, then went back to her own cup and added some. She had a smile on her face as she did it, and he knew she had realized he had replaced the nearly empty bottle with a full one. “And then we have to get him taken to jail, and that will take time because we have to find him first.”

“Well that’s good,” she said, lifting her head up and directing her smile at him. “Thank you for getting me more of my creamer. I hadn’t even realized I was out.”

“I knocked the bottle over yesterday afternoon and the lid broke,” he said. "It spilled onto the floor so it was only right I replace it,” he said with a slight shrug.

“I know, but you’ve been very considerate the last few weeks. I appreciate it.”

“What are your plans?” he asked, taking a sip of his own coffee.

“I’m going to the cinema with Sally since it’s her day off, and then we’re going to Harrod’s to pick up a few things. She got an invitation to a party and doesn’t feel like bringing Anderson as her plus one, so she asked me to go instead.”

Sherlock tried very hard not to scowl at the mention of the man’s name. He was the only person in Scotland Yard he still detested, but that was because he was still so condescending and rude. Sherlock just gave as good as he got in that particular case. “I see.”

“And I was thinking of updating my wardrobe.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“I’ve been thinking about things. I don’t have to look so mousy and timid all the time. Sally’s been trying to convince me to dress better, and I’m thinking maybe I should,” she said with a slight shrug. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll catch someone’s eye and when this is all over I can go on a date.”

He was surprised at the emotion that hit him at that statement. If he didn’t know better he would have said it was jealousy. What on Earth was wrong with him? He didn’t like Molly that way. She was a friend and a colleague. This whole relationship they had was nothing more than a clever ruse to trap a killer. And yet the simple statement made him irrationally jealous. He stamped the feeling down as quickly as he could before he spoke. “I see,” he said again, this time his voice not much more than a murmur.

“Would you like breakfast?” she asked, giving him a slight smile. She was completely oblivious to anything he might have been thinking or feeling. It must not have shown on his face, for which he was grateful. “I was thinking of making omelets.”

He nodded slowly. “I had planned on skipping breakfast, but I suppose I can stand to eat something,” he said.

“Excellent. I’ll get started,” she said, her smile widening. Then she took a sip of her coffee. “Well, as soon as I finish this, if that’s all right.”

“That’s fine.” She turned away from him then and he frowned. Something was going on. Something was changing in this whole situation. And he didn’t like it one bit.


	3. Chapter 3

It was three weeks later when the night of the party arrived. Molly once again had the day off, and she had left early in the morning for what she called a “girl’s day out.” He had not pressed for details. Not because he didn’t want to hear them, but because he assumed it would be things he wouldn’t understand anyway. She had said she would be home by four at the latest to get ready to leave by six.

He had no cases that day, not even anything from John’s blog readers, and so he decided to run a few experiments. He had been careful not to mess up the kitchen or the sitting room today; both Mrs. Hudson and Molly had yelled at him when one of them had exploded and caused a foul smelling stain on the sofa a month prior. He thought Mrs. Hudson was bad enough; two women were worse.

He heard the front door open and he glanced at the clock. It was quarter after five, so she was running late. He moved out of the kitchen to greet her, and stopped short when she got up the stairs to the sitting room. She looked different. Her hair was at least six inches shorter, and it was straight instead of wavy. It was also a darker shade of brown. Not only that, but she had on make-up. Nothing overstated, but considering she usually wore the barest amount of make-up it was noticeable. “You look different,” he said when she looked up.

“I thought it might be time for a change. Unfortunately, after I went to all this trouble, my plans got cancelled,” she said glumly. “Greg called Sally in on an urgent case.”

“Oh. I’m sorry,” he replied. And he was; she had been looking forward to this event since she had told him about it.

“It’s all right. I suppose I’ll just go take the make-up off and go curl up with a good book.”

“Would you like to go out tonight?” he asked after a moment. “I believe it's time we go out in public again anyway.”

“Oh, I would love to,” she said, a wide smile crossing her face. “The party was for a gallery opening. I bet Sally would give me the tickets if I asked.”

Sherlock nodded. “Then let me put this experiment away and change. You find out what we need to do to go.”

“All right.” He began to put the things away while she went into the bedroom. She had not shown him what she was going to wear that evening. It was in a garment bag hanging in the closet. He finished what he was doing before she came out, so he sat in his chair and waited. He heard her heels clicking on the floor before he saw her. “Sally said there weren’t tickets,” he could hear her say as she got closer. “We just need to give her name.”

At that point she came out and he looked up. The dress she had worn for Christmas had been attractive enough, he supposed. But he had not had the inclination to appreciate it at that point. Tonight was different. He could feel his jaw hanging down slightly and he made a concerted effort to close it. She looked very…well, very nice. The dress was dark blue and one shouldered, and the skirt was asymmetrical. “You look very nice,” he got out after a moment.

She blushed slightly. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “I wasn’t sure this would be a good style on me, but I’m glad you like it.” She looked at the clock on the wall. “It starts at six, and I already spent too much time getting ready.”

“It won’t take me long. I just need to take a shower first,” he said. “And isn’t there such a thing as being fashionably late?”

She chuckled slightly. “I suppose. I can wait. I don’t know what kind of food will be there so I’ll just get a quick bite to eat. I can always reapply my lipstick later.”

He nodded, then got up and left the room. The whole time he was in the shower he started to wonder what on earth was wrong with him. He should not be having that reaction to her. He should not be having that reaction to any type of woman, given his stance on relationships, but especially not Molly. He had few friends, and he didn’t want to alienate the ones he had. If he were to ever start a relationship with her, God forbid, he would screw it up and he would lose a friend. He didn’t want that, not at all.

He finished his shower and got dressed quickly, picking one of his best cut suits. If she was going to look sharp then so was he. He came out and found a half hour had passed. He glanced at her in the kitchen. He back was to him and she was leaning over slightly. She looked very attractive in the dress. Someday, when this was all over, some man would be very lucky to have her on his arm. He knew it wouldn’t be him, but someone else. And that thought was mildly depressing, he realized.

“I’m ready,” he said quietly, and she turned to look at him.

“You look very nice yourself,” she said with a smile. “Let’s get going, shall we?”

“All right.” With that they made their way out of their home and he got them a cab. Molly gave the driver the address and within thirty minutes they were at their destination. There was a small crowd outside lingering with drinks but Molly and Sherlock made their way to the doors. Molly gave Sally’s name to the woman at the front and the woman nodded and let them in. “There are more people here than I imagined,” he murmured, staying close to her.

“Me too,” she said. “I didn’t think there would be such a crush of people.”

He glanced at her for a moment. Something seemed off. And then it hit him. “Do you have agoraphobia?”

“A bit, yeah,” she said with a nod. “That’s why I don’t go to clubs. Too many people.”

He looked around and saw a less crowded area by the stairs. Molly reached over for a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, and as soon as she had a good grip he gently grasped her other elbow as a signal she should follow him. He led them over to the stairs and looked up. “It appears to lead to the roof. Perhaps there will be less people there. And the fresh air might help.”

She gave him a grateful smile. “That would be nice.” They made their way up the stairs. He could see the relieved look on her face when she saw that there were significantly less people up there. There was also waiters there, walking around with appetizers and more champagne. He watched her take a sip of her champagne. “This is much better.”

“I’m glad,” he said.

She looked around a bit, then made her way to the ledge of the building. He followed, and he found the noise was less there. She looked up at him. “Why are you so nice to me, Sherlock? I know you didn’t want any of this. I know you would be much happier to have your home to yourself. And yet you’re not making it hard for us to pull this off.” She took another sip of her champagne. “You’re making it quite easy, actually.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

She was quiet for a moment, then she turned to look out at the city. “I thought my silly little crush had faded. I thought I could do this and not feel anything more than a warm friendship with you. But it hasn’t. And I feel…more.”

He turned and looked at the same sight, resting his forearms on the railing keeping them safely on the roof. “I see.”

“It’s stupid. Forget I said anything,” she said after a minute.

“I think my feelings towards you are changing,” he said quietly.

“What?” she said, and he could tell she was shocked.

“Do you need me to repeat myself?” he asked, turning to look at her, and he knew he was correct. Her eyes were wide and her mouth was open a little wider.

“No, I just…you don’t do relationships. You said that the first night I moved in.”

“I know. And in the last month and a half I have gotten…used to you, I suppose. I feel comfortable with you. I never thought that would happen for me with any woman.”

“So what do we want to do?” she asked, moving just a bit closer to him.

“I don’t know, to be honest. We need to continue to reside together for this plan to work. I was thinking we might see what happens if we let things unfold at whatever pace we deem fit.”

“All right,” she said with a nod. “I can live with that.”

He gave her a slight grin, then turned back to the city lights. “I will probably be a rubbish boyfriend. You’ll hate me by the time this is all over.”

She moved closer to him, then put her free hand on his arm. He looked down at it, then back at her. “I haven’t had a boyfriend since I was twenty-one years old. I’ve been out on a few dates since, but nothing serious. I have just as much chance of being rubbish as you do.”

He nodded slowly, then moved his arm that her hand was on. She pulled it away, but then he grasped it. The entire time they had been pretending she had initiated all the physical contact. He could see a smile on her face as she gripped his hand tightly. “So we just let this unfold?” he asked.

She nodded, shifting her position so her fingers were threaded between his. “Yes. I think that would be best.”

“All right,” he said. “Then how do we start?”

“We just enjoy tonight, and then we go to sleep and wake up tomorrow and see what happens next.”

“I can live with that,” he said. He wasn’t sure what was going to happen next, but at least she was giving him the chance to find out. He was glad for that, even if the uncertainty was going to gnaw at him when he let it. But as she changed the subject he found himself relaxing. Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as he thought. Or at least he hoped it wouldn’t be.


	4. Chapter 4

Time went on, and while the both of them knew there was still danger, that there was still a killer to catch, things became very good for the both of them. The first night, the night of the party, Sherlock had initiated more than just the first instance of physical contact. By the time they got home they had spent much of the evening close, and there had been a lot of holding of hands. When they went to sleep that night and they ended up in the middle of the bed in the morning, there was very little space between them, and before she woke up Sherlock savored the closeness.

It was perhaps two weeks later they had their first real kiss. It had been raining, an unexpected chill rain in the middle of June, and they both made a mad dash for the nearest awning to wait it out. They both were dripping wet but he had a frown on his face, and as a chuckle escaped her lips at the sight he thought it was perhaps the right time. He had pulled her close and the chuckle had died off, replaced by a warm smile. It hadn’t been the best first kiss, not at first, but it got better when she kissed him back. They stayed that way for nearly a half hour, ignoring the rain and the people walking by. That night he pulled her close against him as they slept, and they woke up the next morning with their legs all tangled up.

There were small steps taken, as small as they could take while still keeping up the ruse. But there was no hesitation on her part. The more they acted like a real couple, the happier she was. And if he wanted to admit it, the happier he was as well. He was surprised he could actually be happy. But when he was with her he felt normal, or at least the way he supposed normal people felt. Each day that passed that he didn’t mess things up was a cause for celebration.

This wasn’t to say everything was perfect. They did have small arguments, and one of them had caused her to storm out of the house for a few hours to calm down. He was afraid he had done something so wrong that there was no fixing it, but when she came home he apologized to her. He never apologized for anything, even after his fall, and she had stared at him in shock for a moment before giving him a smile and a kiss and saying all was forgiven.

The longer it went on the more worried he became that the plan would not work, however. At four and a half months since they had agreed to start dating, six months since she had moved in, there was still no sign that the killer would consider them a perfect choice for his sadistic entertainment. The killer had struck again, twice they thought, and still he did not come after Sherlock and Molly. He was worried Lestrade would pull the plug on things and Molly would have no reason to stay. He wasn’t sure what would happen if she left. He had gotten used to her and he didn’t want her to leave.

He was poring over the most recent suspected murder when she came home. It had happened two weeks prior but there were still no concrete clues. And he wasn’t even sure if it was the same killer because while the victimology was the same the method he had used to kill them had been drastically different. He hated this entire case, even if it had given him something he had never thought he would have. “Still stuck?” she asked as she set the groceries on the island in the kitchen.

“Yes,” he said with a sigh, hanging his head and pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s been two weeks and I still don’t have any solid leads. Just a few scattered clues that don’t make sense out of context.”

“I was thinking about that today. He went nearly four months without killing, then got two couples in a month, right?” she asked.

“If those murders were the work of the same killer, yes.”

“Then why did he wait so long between murders? I mean, if he had been killing more frequently and then stopped for a while, there has to be a reason, right?”

He snapped his head up, then turned to look at her. “Molly, I could kiss you.”

“I would like it very much if you did,” she said with a smile.

“I will. Later. I need to call Lestrade. We need to look at local hospitals and at recent prisoners released from jail.”

“Go on. Go ahead and work,” she said with a chuckle. “I’ll start making dinner.”

He got on the phone and moved to the bedroom to make the call. It took longer than he had expected, and when he was done he noted that there was silence in the other room. Normally when Molly cooked there was noise. He thought about it more, and realized something was nagging at him. Something was wrong. It was a feeling that would not go away. He went to his nightstand and opened it quietly. He kept a gun there, fully loaded. Molly knew about it; he had told her in case someone tried to harm either of them and he couldn’t get to it. He double checked and saw it was still loaded. He held it tightly and in front of him. He might have the element of surprise in case he was right. “Lestrade is going to track down a few leads tonight,” he said from the hallway as he walked down it.

“Oh, that’s good,” she said. He knew then, the moment she spoke, that he had been right. There was fear in her voice. Someone else was in the house with them. He prepared himself as best he could, and when he turned to look into the kitchen he saw a man standing behind Molly, the sharp part of a knife pressed against her throat. “He just burst in,” she said, her voice quiet. “He has a knife.”

“Now, you shouldn’t have done that,” the man said, and Sherlock could see him press the knife into her throat more. She shut her eyes and he could see a tear slip down her face. The man noticed it too. “Now, love, don’t cry. Soon you won’t feel a thing.” Then he turned to Sherlock. “Drop the gun.”

“No.” Sherlock took aim. He could hit the man in the shoulder, but a headshot was too much. He was too close to Molly. He could miss and kill her instead. He didn’t know if he could live with himself if he did that. “Drop the knife instead.”

“You’re too clever by half,” the man said, a smile on his face. It was a smug smile, and Sherlock found himself getting angry at the sight of it. He couldn’t afford to get angry. He couldn’t afford to feel any emotions whatsoever. He had to go back to his former state, the human robot. More than just his own life depended on it. “You would have caught me. I heard what she said. You would have found out about my stint in jail and put it all together.”

“So you admit to killing the couples?”

“Yes. I quite enjoyed it. The torture was the best part. And I plan on doing the same to both of you. This will be my triumph.”

“If we’re your triumph than what’s the point of continuing after you kill us?” Molly asked. Sherlock turned his attention from the man to Molly. He wasn’t quite sure what she was doing but he had an idea. He just hoped it worked.

“What do you mean?” the man asked, his grip slacking just a bit.

“If you kill us and we’re your triumph no kill after that is going to measure up,” she said. “It’s always going to be like a subpar shag after you’ve had great sex. It’s never going to live up to the best one and it’s going to make you miserable.”

“But I’ll kill Sherlock Holmes! I’ll get the best of him,” the man said.

“Another man thought of himself as Sherlock’s greatest opponent. And he killed himself on the roof of St. Bart’s when Sherlock proved he was better,” she said. “You’re nothing compared to Jim Moriarty.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Dr. Hooper.” He started to loosen his grip as he got angry. Sherlock just needed him to pull away a bit farther and he could take the man out.

“Yes I do. You’re looking at this as a great game. So did Moriarty. But the problem with playing a game with Sherlock Holmes is you are bound to lose. He will beat you and he will make you pay.”

“You lie. You lie!” He moved his hand with the knife and then moved to the side, and Sherlock fired. The shot went through the man’s skull and he fell down to the ground.

But Sherlock didn’t care. Molly was holding her throat and he could see blood seeping from between her fingers. “Molly!” he yelled, running towards her.

“It isn’t deep. It didn’t hit an important artery,” she said, keeping pressure. “But call an ambulance anyway. I might still lose a lot of blood.”

He nodded and pulled his phone out of his pocket. His hands were shaking but he managed to place the call. He looked at her the whole time, and when he saw her start to apply less pressure he put the phone on speaker and went to apply pressure to her throat. “Please, pull through,” he said quietly as the operator continued to speak.

“You can’t get rid of me this easily, Sherlock,” she said, but her eyes were fluttering and he was worried he would lose her quite easily. He could hear sirens nearby. “I need to tell you something.”

“You can tell me when this is over,” he said.

“No, I need to tell you now. Just in case.” She shut her eyes. “I love you, Sherlock. All right? I do.”

He nodded, though he knew she couldn’t see him. “If you love me then you won’t leave me,” he said quietly.

“I won’t,” she said quietly.

He could hear the sirens get closer and he continued to put pressure on the wound. Blood was still coming out, but not as much. He had to believe the pressure was helping. He dimly heard the door open. “We’re in the kitchen!” he called out. A moment later he saw paramedics come into the room.

“We’ve got it from here,” the lead paramedic said as another came over and pulled Sherlock’s hand away. A third came to look at the man but shook his head at the lead paramedic. “How is it?”

“Deep, but not life threatening. She’s lost a lot of blood though,” the other paramedic said. Then he looked back at Sherlock. “Put your hands back and put pressure on the wound.” Sherlock nodded and he held her close as they got to work. Finally he was told he could move his hands away. “We need to get her to the ambulance.”

“I’ll carry her,” Sherlock said.

“You can’t come with us,” the second paramedic said.

“Try and stop me,” Sherlock said through gritted teeth as he stood up, Molly in his arms.

“Let him,” the lead paramedic said. “He’s Lestrade’s pet consultant.” Sherlock ignored the dig and as the lead paramedic walked out the door he followed. They quickly set up a stretcher and Sherlock put her on it. Then they loaded her in and the lead paramedic and Sherlock got in the back. “Sorry about the dig. I should have used a different term.”

“It’s all right,” Sherlock said, holding her hand. “She’ll pull through?”

The paramedic nodded. “You kept pressure on the wound. It’s still bleeding, but it’s nothing that will kill her. You two will have a long life together, if you’re lucky.”

“Good,” he said. He had almost lost her. He had come so close. And he wasn’t sure if he would be able to get over that any time soon.


	5. Chapter 5

He stayed by her bedside until she woke up. He had called John but he was out of town, though John had reassured him that Molly would indeed wake up. He said he would come back to London as quickly as he could, because both Sherlock and Molly were his friends and he knew he was needed. Lestrade had been called to the home and later found him at her hospital room. He had asked for details and Sherlock had told him, not looking away from Molly and not letting go of her hand. After a half hour Lestrade got the hint that Sherlock had much more important things on his mind and left, promising to look in on the two of them later. He knew he was staying past visiting hours, and that he wasn’t anything more than just her boyfriend, but no one asked him to leave. He was fairly sure he had his brother to thank for that. He would ask Mycroft when all of this was over, and if it was his doing he would thank him afterwards. He didn’t want to leave her side, not until he was entirely sure she would pull through.

Five hours passed and he was starting to get tired. He had been considering leaning his head back and dozing for a bit when he saw her stir. He gripped her hand tightly and after a moment she squeezed it back, though weakly. “I told you I wouldn’t leave you,” she said quietly, her eyes still shut. She didn’t turn to look at him but he supposed that might hurt too much.

“I’m glad you didn’t,” he said, the knot in his stomach unclenching. “You were very brave. You saved us both.”

“But I got hurt.” She opened her eyes at that point, and he could see a tear slip down her cheek.

“It doesn’t matter. You’re alive, and that’s all that matters.” He moved his chair closer, then used his other hand to brush the tear away. “He’s dead now. You saved countless others as well.”

She turned then, and he could see her wince in pain slightly. “I did well, then?”

“You did exceptionally well.”

“Good.” She shut her eyes again. “How badly was I hurt?”

“You lost a lot of blood, and you have stitches. You’ll have a scar.”

“Something to remind me I almost died,” she said quietly.

“Something to remind you you survived,” he replied.

“You’re actually quite good at comforting,” she said, a faint smile crossing her lips as she turned her head back.

“Only with you, I think.”

“So what now?” she asked. “If he’s dead, things can go back to how they were. You can have your home back.”

“What about us?” he asked as ice filled his veins.

“I still want to date you. I’m in love with you. I don’t want to give you up.”

“What if I don’t want you to leave?” he asked quietly.

“You want me to keep living with you?” she asked, turning her head. She did it too quickly because this wince was much more noticeable. “Why?”

“I like having you there. I don’t think it would be the same if you left. I have gotten used to your presence and I don’t want to lose it.”

“Is that the only reason?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know if it’s love. I’m still not sure. But I do care greatly. More than I have for anyone else in my life.”

“Even John?”

“Even John. What I feel for you is more than friendship. It’s more than just simple caring. It’s more complicated than that, I suppose.” He tightened his grip on her hand. “Please consider staying with me.”

“I don’t need to consider it,” she said. “I’ll stay. To be honest, I don’t want to go home to an empty flat. I like what we have.”

“Good,” he said as relief poured through him. “I still owe you a kiss.”

“Yes, you do,” she said with a slight chuckle until she winced again. “I’ll collect when I’m discharged.”

“All right,” he said with a nod.

“I know the nurses will get upset, but I would like it very much if you were next to me for a while,” she said. “I’ve gotten very used to sleeping next to you. I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep otherwise.”

“I’ll stay with you in the bed until you’re asleep,” he said. “Then they can’t get mad.”

“They’ll get mad anyway, but I don’t care.” She moved over, more slowly than he would have liked, but soon there was a bit of space for him. He let go of her hand and got onto the hospital bed. He had to stay on his side, but she reached over for his hand and pulled his arm across her waist. “Stay until I fall asleep, all right?”

“I’ll stay as long as you want me to,” he said quietly, curling his hand on her hip.

“Can you stay forever?” she asked, and he could tell she was drifting back to sleep.

“I will, for you,” he replied.

“Good,” she said with a faint smile on her face. Moments later she was asleep again. As he watched her sleep he knew that no matter what, he would stay. This was what he wanted now. Because while there had been bad moments and he had almost lost her, the good far outweighed the bad. And he never would have had any of this if it hadn’t been for this ruse to catch a killer. Right now he was never more glad that he had been wrong about something.


End file.
